The Curious Incident of the Cat in the Stairwell
by yangri
Summary: "You're not my mother." Kuroo Tetsuro dies in the night. Oikawa Tooru makes a deadly mistake. Everything spirals from there. OCs from Kindergarten Bully universe involved, but story is technically non-canon in that universe. Written in short drabbles. [HIATUS]
1. The Woman

"Lunch is in the fridge!" Naoko called over her shoulder as she slipped her feet into her worn sneakers. "And don't forget to do that homework assignment sensei set you!"

"What?!" Oikawa's whinging voice came from their shared bedroom in their apartment. "How do you even know about that?!"

"Kuroo can be a surprising loudmouth when he wants to be."

Their was some grumbling and cursing on her partner's behalf before she heard the bed squeak, indicating that he was rolling out to take a shower. She paused at the doorway for a while longer, amused.

Eventually, Oikawa forgave her enough to sullenly mutter, "Love you, Mako-chan."

"Love you, too, Shittykawa." Naoko left the apartment, the door clicking shut behind her. Checking her watch, she headed to the elevator, where a middle-aged woman with a pram was waiting. Even though 'down' button was already glowing, Naoko pressed it again.

"Good morning," the lady with the pram greeted.

Naoko returned her greeting politely.

"I moved in here not long ago," said the woman. "I'm Himura Rio, and this is my son, Toshiji."

Naoko's lips quirked upward in a smile. "Oh, is that," she peeked underneath the hood of the pram, faltering, "so...?" There was no child in there, merely a swath of blankets.

"Isn't he cute?" Himura cooed, placing one hand on her cheek and beaming with all the love of a mother.

The lift doors opened then, and Naoko stepped inside, holding the door out for Himura.

"Oh, you go ahead," the kindly lady offered. "My little Toshiji is starting to kick up a fuss~"

"Oh, of course. Thank you, Himura-san."

When the doors closed, Naoko exhaled, pressing her back against the railing. _That woman... did she lose her baby?_


	2. The Man

"Alright!" Determinedly, Oikawa sat down in front of his laptop, eager to finish his project for Umanosuke-sensei, even if he was an old fartbag who tended to go off on random tangents during class. He cracked his fingers. _Let's do this!_

As soon as his laptop turned on, his stomach growled. Eyebrow twitching, he smiled blandly. _I haven't eaten yet, and I don't feel like leftovers right now..._ With her attention turned to her studies and her part-time job, Naoko barely had time to cook nowadays, and the Chinese takeaway they'd eaten last night wasn't exactly brunch material.

 _Oh, what the heck. There's a convenience store in the lobby, so I'll just quickly duck down to get some cup ramen and come straight back up to finish this._ Hastily, Oikawa got dressed into something decent enough for a quick walk-about, snatching his wallet off the coffee table in front of the television and stalking toward the door. He managed to shove his feet into slippers just as he opened the door, and he was glad that there weren't any judging eyes to see him in such a sloppy state.

He had gotten his cup noodles and was waiting for the elevator back up when a woman with a pram and a baby tucked in the crook of her arm entered the building, smiling at the receptionist and parking right beside Oikawa. Being the polite boy he was (whatever Iwaizumi had to say about him was wrong!), he said hello to the woman and held the lift door open for her.

He did not expect her to drop the baby—it wasn't a baby after all, he realized; it was merely a bundle of blankets—and stare up at him with searching, hopeful eyes.

 _"Toshiji?"_


	3. The Child

_"So what happened that day?"_

 _"You don't know? It was all over the news."_

 _"No, I don't. Tell me?"_

 _"... Sure."_

* * *

"Oh, I think you have the wrong person," Oikawa said as he helped pick up the woman's blankets, a little unnerved by the fact that the baby wasn't actually a baby. "My name is—"

The lift doors closed.

 _"My son!"_

Oikawa recoiled when she grabbed his hands with a manic desperation, her brown eyes wide. A tuft of hair—part of her bangs—sat between her imploring eyes. She began to cry, though she still smiled. Oikawa was silent.

"Toshiji-kun," she sobbed. "It's been so long, Toshiji-kun. My son—my _son_. You've finally come back to me. Toshiji-kun!" Completely caught off guard, Oikawa couldn't even bring himself to react when the woman threw her arms around his torso, her tears staining his shirt. "Why are you so silent, my son? Don't you..." She drew back from him, confused. "Don't you recognize your own mother?"

It was like something had snapped in his brain. It was an urge... an urge to ease her suffering—her confusion. Without knowing much of what he was doing—except that he was doing a kind act for a lost woman—he tentatively embraced her.

"Toshiji-kun," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes again. She squeezed her eyes shut, her tears escaping out of the corners of her eyes. "I've missed you so much."

Oikawa gulped, slowly patting her on the back. "I've missed you, too...

 _"Okaa-san."_


	4. The Girl

Naoko turned in the bed, gazing sleepily at the man resting beside her in the dark. "Tooru, what's wrong? You've been acting strange all day. And don't pretend to be asleep."

"Maa, I'm fine, Mako-chan." His voice was teasing, but there was an underlying heaviness that she did not miss. "Don't be so concerned about me." A warm arm wrapped around her waist and she felt herself being pulled into his mass. Sighing, she snuggled into his chest.

"I can help you with that assignment if you want," she offered.

"No way. The last time I got help was when I was in grade school, from my mom. Are you my mom, Mako-chan?"

She snorted. "Go to sleep already, you dumb chihuahua."

"Mm. 'Night, Mako-chan."

She fell asleep within three minutes, but Oikawa was still staring into the dark, unable to sleep. Using his free hand, he slapped himself on the cheek as quietly as possible. _Get a grip!_ he coached himself. _It was just one spur-of-the-moment bad decision. You've made tons of those in the past. Why should this one be any different?_

* * *

A few days later, the weight on Oikawa's heart had lessened when Naoko woke up to a peculiar sight.

"Tooru, did you do the dishes last night?"

Oikawa winced as he stepped out of the shower, preparing himself for a scolding. "Uhh, did I?"

"Tooru."

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll do them now, let me just get dressed first."

There was a perturbed silence on her end that prompted him to tug on his sweater quicker. Choosing not to wear his contacts today, he instead grabbed his spectacles from the bedside table. When he emerged from the bedroom, he found Naoko standing in front of the sink, bemused. The dishes were stacked up on the drying rack, exactly how he normally put it when it was his turn to wash.

"What the...?"

"So it wasn't you either, then?" Naoko's frowned deepened. "Weird. You probably must have done it without remembering."

"Yeah, maybe." Curiously, Oikawa stared at the shiny plates. "Guess we'll never find out, huh?"

But Naoko didn't like being kept in the dark.


	5. The Cat

_"Hey, hey, hey, Kuroo! How's my favorite cat doing?"_

Kuroo was lucky he remembered to keep the phone at a distance from his ear. Nevertheless, he grinned, Bokuto's voice a welcome sound in the late afternoon. "Oh, pretty good. I'm about to head to dinner with the Trash King."

 _"Eh, Oikawa again? How come you never come to yakiniku with me, huh?"_

Kuroo snorted in amusement. "Bro, you live halfway across the city."

 _"_ Only _halfway!"_

"If it makes you happy, we can do Saturday, 'kay?"

The owl whined in his ear. _"What?! Dude, that's, like, two days away!"_

"Take it or leave it, Bokuto!" He had to shout into his phone, for a passing car was playing loud music. Damn delinquents.

 _"Fine, fine. See you Saturday. And you'd better show up, or else."_

'Or else you'll do what?"

 _"To be honest, not much."_ Bokuto chuckled over phone. _"Gotta go now, bro, got a train to catch. See ya."_

Kuroo had just turned off his phone, when he bumped into a woman. "Oh, sorry." Already two minutes late to his dinner date with Oikawa and Makoshima, he hurried past her.

Himura Rio stared after his retreating back.


	6. The Victim

"Ugh, I'm stuffed." Kuroo stretched his arms up as he walked out of the restaurant with Naoko and Oikawa behind him. "And not nearly drunk enough."

"It's Thursday, you damn cat," Naoko stated bluntly. "Who the hell gets wasted on a Thursday?"

"I know at least three people," the bed-haired Nekoma alumnus retorted.

"Come on, Tetsu-chan," Oikawa invited, "we have beer back at our place if you want. It's probably two months expired, but you don't exactly have many options."

He agreed, much to Naoko's quiet amusement.

* * *

The crack and pop of the can was refreshing as Kuroo took a gulp of Oikawa's expired beer. They were all sitting on the couch, looking like a can of sardines. Kuroo stuck out his tongue. "Blegh. Disgusting."

"Your face," Oikawa mumbled halfheartedly, more focused on finding a channel that they would all enjoy (but if it came to it, he would pick the one that entertained him the most).

"Real mature, Tooru." In the end, Kuroo was satisfied with only being slightly buzzed if it meant not taking another sip of Oikawa's expired alcohol, and made to leave the apartment.

"Are you sure you don't want us to walk you home?" Naoko glanced up from the television to look at Kuroo, whose eyes were droopy.

"Relax, Makoshima, it's not like I'm driving or anything. Unless you want me intruding on your lovenest, I'll be on my way."

"Go," Oikawa said immediately, bursting into laughter afterward. Naoko rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. "Seriously, though, be careful."

Kuroo saluted them, and maybe it was the alcohol in Oikawa's system but he couldn't help but feel a... _wrongness_ permeating the air. But when Naoko yawned and complained about the cheapness of his taste in movies, it all went away. _Note to self,_ the brunet thought, _no more consuming expired shit._

* * *

The hallway was annoyingly bright in that fluorescent way. The light at the end of the hall kept flickering as well, and Kuroo forced himself not to stare at it, lest he wake up tomorrow with an even worse headache. It was fortunate that he had only afternoon classes on Fridays.

He stopped in front of the elevator, pressing the down button. When the lift didn't come after five minutes, he sighed. Well, Oikawa and Makoshima lived on the fifth floor, so it wouldn't be that long of a walk down.

Kuroo was at the top of the landing when his phone buzzed, and he took it out of his back pocket. It was a text from Bokuto. _At this hour, really? Asking me if he should bring this girl back to his dorm?_

Suddenly, it felt like time had refracted and compressed without him even knowing it, and he was falling—falling forward. His eyes widened slowly, his phone flying out of his hand as the world turned upside down.

In reality, the weightlessness only lasted a few seconds before he was sprawled on landing at the bottom of the stairs, his phone cracked. Bokuto continued to ping messages when he received no answer, Kuroo's phone lighting up and darkening in intervals.

At the top of the stairs, Himura Rio stood.


	7. The Innocent

_No. No. Nononono. This can't be happening._

Oh, but it was.

It was like the world had stopped working for Oikawa. He could see Kuroo's mother crying wretchedly as the casket was lowered, dressed in mourning colors. Ryouta Rin was there, too, and with her stood a few people that he vaguely recognized. They were lost in their own grief, unresponding to those offering their condolences.

 _This isn't real. This is fucking real._ Oikawa covered his face with one hand, eyes burning with tears as he glared at the darkness that encompassed his vision. "Godammit," he muttered. "GOD DAMMIT!" His outburst gained him some disapproving looks, but he didn't care. _I should have gone after him. I knew that something was wrong, but I fucking ignored it!_

A hand wrapped around his and he removed his palm from his face, eyes watering when he saw Naoko looking up at him, looking more defeated than he had ever seen her. She wasn't crying now, but her eyes were puffy and swollen. Something fizzled inside him, and Oikawa shakily untangled their fingers and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, his chest heaving as he sobbed. Naoko clung to him just as tightly, her eyes closed.

The light rain started to become heavier then, and the funeral-goers vacated soon after.

Oikawa got Naoko to go back to the main building without him. He loved her—gods, he really did—but he needed a moment to himself. He needed to recollect every breath he had ever taken and—and—

There was another person who stayed back.

"Sumire," Oikawa murmured. She was in her final year of high school now, spending it at Karasuno High.

Makoshima Sumire lifted her head to look at him, eyes darkened with sadness. She hadn't really known Kuroo, but her sister had come, and...

"You look like you've got something on your mind," Sumire said, a little awkward for stating the obvious.

The words tumbled out before he even knew it. _"This wasn't an accident."_

And Sumire drew in a breath.


	8. The Investigator

"My son, it feels like I haven't seen you for so long." Himura reached up a hand to trace a circle on Oikawa's cheek. "You've been avoiding me. Why, Toshiji-kun?"

"D-don't." Oikawa stepped back from her. "I just came over to ask you something."

"You figured out my room number? You're so smart, Toshiji-kun—I'm so proud of you."

"Stop calling me that!" he bellowed.

Himura recoiled, hurt. Eyes drifting downward, she clutched her bathrobe closer to her chest. "You shouldn't speak to your mother like that, Toshiji-kun."

 _"You're not my mother!"_ he wanted to scream. But if playing along would give him answers—good intentions paved the way to hell for him—then he would do so. "I'm sorry, okaa-san." Smiling, he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I've just been really stressed recently. My friend, Kuroo... he passed away." He didn't have to force himself to look sad.

"Oh." Himura lifted her hands to her mouth, horrified. "Oh my goodness, Toshiji-kun—"

A muscle in Oikawa's jaw twitched.

"—I'm so sorry. Was he... was he the boy that fell down the stairs?"

She knew. Of course she knew, he reasoned, it was all over the news. College student got drunk paid the price by tripping and snapping his fucking neck. A perfect headline to draw in the attention of the people.

"Yes." Oikawa took a deep breath in. "Okaa-san, I need you to tell me if you saw anything suspicious on the night he died." He rattled off the time and date to her, and she nodded slowly. "I'm asking everyone who lives around the stairwell."

"I'm sorry," Himura apologized. "But I'm always sleep by nine o'clock. I'm afraid I didn't see anything, son."

He was afraid of that. He offered a small, sad smile. "Thanks anyway... okaa-san."

"Come visit soon, dear!"

* * *

 _"What do you mean it wasn't an accident?" Sumire's eyes sharpened, and she brushed her wet bangs to the side. "Are you saying that Kuroo-san was... murdered? But how? The security cameras were checked, and all it captured was him falling over."_

 _"Blind spot," Oikawa stated immediately. "Cameras can't capture everything. It was a perfect set up to make it look like an accident."_

 _Sumire opened her mouth to retort before faltering. Exhaling, she rubbed her temples. "Okay, okay. Let's work with that assumption. Do you know anyone who has any beef with Kuroo? Considering he doesn't even live in your apartment, I doubt that it was just an opportunistic kill, or at least one other person would have been killed."_

 _"Beef?" Oikawa rubbed his chin. "Well, there is this one guy who lives pretty close by, but... it can't be him."_

 _Her eyes flashed. "You don't know that for sure. You know we can't take this the police, right? They'll never believe you if you don't have any solid evidence of foul play."_

 _"I know." He passed his hand through his hair. "I'll ask around to see if anyone saw anything suspicious, then I'll talk to Daisho-san."_

 _Sumire nodded grimly. "You do that. I'll do my own snooping if I can. It's a slim chance, but maybe someone I know knows something..."_

 _It was the best she could do, so he accepted that._


	9. The Snake

Twenty-one. Kuroo Tetsuro was twenty-one when he died. He'd been a little tipsy, yes, but not to the point where his agile reflexes couldn't have stopped him from kicking the bucket. Because no matter how deep inside the feeling is, one knows when they induce their own fall. One knows when they tripped over their shoelaces or got the toe of their shoe lodged in the crack of the sidewalk. Kuroo Tetsuro had been caught off guard. Kuroo Tetsuro had been _murdered_.

Oikawa Tooru could never keep his hands still, Daishou Suguru noticed. It probably came with being a setter, the man supposed. Good setters always had to be ready to toss the ball in any direction. He was thankful that Mika was at work today, because he didn't want her to be here for this confrontation.

With little prompting, Oikawa laid out the facts and assumptions in front of him.

"Let me guess," Daishou said stiffly when he finished. "You think _I_ did it? Just because of some high school shit that he and I had?" Hearing from someone's mouth that Kuroo was dead was, well, surreal. Gods, he wasn't _glad_ about it, and maybe deep down he had had a _respect_ for the bed-haired captain, but...

"I'm not an idiot. I didn't come here because I thought you did it, I came here because I have no other leads."

"Well, congratulations." Daishou narrowed his eyes angrily. "You got me. I killed the cat."

 _"This isn't a joke!"_ Oikawa slammed his palm on the coffee table, and Daishou snarled.

"Oh, fuck you, _Oikawa_." Daishou stood up, hating the fact that he had to look up to the taller man. _"We both know that I didn't kill him and we both know that I'm only fucking saying these things because you fucking barged into my house to interrogate me!"_

The two glared at each other before Oikawa grudgingly backed down. "Sorry." He didn't sound sorry. "Well, this was a fucking waste of time. I'll get out of your hair."

Oikawa was about to leave when Daishou hesitantly piped up. "Wait."

He turned.

"Was he anywhere near Hakusan-dori Avenue?"

"... Yeah. That was where we had dinner."

"My uncle works as a security guard there. If he was there, there should be some glimpse of him on the cameras. I can... get my hands on it, if you want. It's illegal, but," Daishou chuckled grimly, "so is murder, and the police aren't doing jackshit about it. Don't look so surprised, Oikawa—I don't believe that it was an accident. You want to convince me that someone like _Kuroo_ tripped and fell to death? Yeah, good luck with that."

A breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding was let go of, and Oikawa finally got a good, real look at Daishou. He still had that sly, snake-like look about him, but a blind baby could tell that he was being genuine. Grief bled into his harsh tone, and his willingness to help spoke volumes.

"Mika's going to be back soon," Daishou said abruptly. "Get out of here. We'll talk again at a later date. I hope you're good with computers, because I'm not, and neither is my uncle. Best he can do is retrieve the footage."

"That's fine." Oikawa really, _really_ wished that he didn't have to bring her into this, but she had already made herself involved. "Because I know someone who is."


	10. The Owl

"Hey, Naoko-chan! You want to go grab lunch?"

Naoko gave her friend an apologetic wave. "Sorry, but I'll have to pass today. There's something I have to do." After they parted ways, Naoko left the campus without waiting for Oikawa—he still had a class to attend.

With purpose, she strode to the train station. The entire journey was a blur, but she made it to the memorial park eventually. She found herself standing in front of Kuroo's grave, which had flowers and incense strewn around it. She righted them. This wasn't the first time she had done something like this—when her parents had passed away, she'd done the same, but eventually she'd stopped going.

"Hey, you bed-haired cat." She paused, considering her words. "This doesn't count as disrespecting the dead, now, does it?" She removed a box of cake from the plastic bag she was carrying with her. Unorthodox, but not unheard of. "You weren't the most fond of sweets, but... this was one of the desserts you actually liked." His death was a fresh wound on her heart, and she nearly winced when the wind blowing against her face was her only answer. Granted, she would probably have a heart attack if he suddenly jumped out from his grave, but...

She didn't want him to be lonely, strangely enough. She knew how loneliness felt, and it was a terrible thing. Of course, he was dead, and Naoko was entirely superstitious, but—

"Oh—hey! Are you Makoshima-san?"

Naoko turned, eyes widening slightly when she saw a man holding a closed umbrella approaching. He had grey and black hair styled in a way that reminded her of a horned owl, but she was polite enough not to stare for too long. She vaguely recognized him from Kuroo's photo gallery. "Bokuto-san, right?"

"Hah, yeah..." he trailed off, sidling beside her and looking down at Kuroo's grave. "Hey, Kuro, old buddy." Naoko simply stood in silence as Bokuto had the rest of his conversation with Kuroo in his head. If a few tears slipped out, he pretended they weren't there, so she did, too.

"Wait." Naoko stopped him when he tried to leave. "Have you by any chance talked to Tooru?"

"Eh? Oikawa? We're not that close, but we sometimes talk. Haven't heard from him for a while though. What's up, Makoshima-san?"

She wasn't really sure how to continue. After all, how could she tell him that Oikawa seemed convinced that foul play was afoot? It wasn't as if she disbelieved him—for all his rambling about aliens, Oikawa had a surprisingly good sense of judgement a steady grip on reality—but—but—

 _I don't want to get his hopes up._

"I... just need to get your opinion on something." Naoko paused, wondering how exactly to word what she was about to say next. "If only two people live together, and neither of them did the dishes after dinner but found them clean the next morning... What would that mean?"

Bokuto lifted his eyebrows. "Is this a hypothetical situation, or...? It sounds like you have a cleaning fairy floating around you." He chuckled shortly before his face turned unexpectantly solemn. "Realistically, though?"

Naoko inched forward.

 _"It... It sounds like you have a third person in your house."_


	11. The Hidden

Oikawa returned home to find Naoko turning the entire place upside down. The pillows on their couch were strewn on the floor, chairs were tipped on the side, and the television was angled toward him.

"Mako-chan?"

The look she gave him was a mixture of "disturbed" and "I want to murder your puppy". Worried, he put down his bag and drew her into a hug.

"What's wrong? What have you done to the place?"

She wriggled out of his grasp, looking up at him. "Someone's been coming into our house." Paranoia laced her every word.

"What?!"

"I'm serious, Tooru! Do you remember how the dishes were cleaned that day? Even though neither of us had done it?"

"That doesn't mean—"

Naoko's face morphed in a glare. "That wasn't the only time! There have been other instances, too, like how I found our bed made or the TV remote suddenly appearing on the coffee table!"

Oikawa stared at her, disbelieving. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were too busy with your detective work," Naoko said shortly, crossing her arms.

"Detective work." She said it in a way that made him sound like an ignorant child. He hated that. Clenching his fists, he returned her glare. "I'm doing this _detective work_ for someone who was our _friend!_ Gods, Naoko, Kuroo was _murdered_ and no one seems to give a shit!"

"Tooru—"

"At least I'm chasing a killer. All you're chasing is ghosts." He turned his back on her, walking out the door.

"Where the hell are you going?!" Naoko shouted, walking a few paces toward him.

"To find the bastard who killed him."

The door closed.

A muscle in Naoko's jaw twitched, and she punched the wall in frustration. _"Dammit! Dammit all to hell!"_

She did not see the face peering up at her from the tiny recess between the floor and the sink—the only place she hadn't thought to look—twisted in unearthly malice.


	12. The Sister

"Here." Daishou set down a cup of coffee in front of Oikawa. "You look like you need it, stud. When's your girlfriend going to be here?"

"Girlfriend's sister," Oikawa corrected, taking the coffee with a grateful nod. He checked his watch. "And she should be here right about..."

There was a knock on Daishou's door.

"Now," the setter finished, and Daishou scoffed and made for the door.

As expected, Sumire was standing outside, soaking wet.

"Don't you have an umbrella?" Daishou asked her.

"Clearly not." Sumire gave him a withering look. "And do you always greet total strangers like this?" She shook her head, trying to rid her wet hair of the water.

"Do you always shake your head like a dog?" Daishou retorted before letting her in. She greeted Oikawa and flipped Daishou off at the same time, which was impressive in its own right. She was wearing her Karasuno uniform, which was soaked through, so she had to remove her blazer and hang it on a nearby chair.

When Daishou noticed with a small appreciation that her white blouse was sticking to her flat stomach, she side-eyed him. "I have a boyfriend."

"And I have a girlfriend. Point?"

"Stop that, you, two." Oikawa opened up his laptop in front of him. "And gross, you're still seeing Tobio-chan?"

"I've fucked him, too, if that's what you want to hear."

"Oh, _god_ —" Oikawa face-palmed. "Okay, okay. You do you. If you come down with some strange disease, then it's all on you. I've run through the security footage on my computer, but the resolution is really shit. You think you can do something about that?"

Sumire smirked. "Just leave it to me. You're looking at a tech titan over here."

Not even an hour later later, Sumire had made the quality as high as she possibly could. They watched through the entire footage, cutting out irrelevant parts and focusing on only where Kuroo appeared. There were many people in the streets, which was exceptionally hindering.

Half an hour later, something promising came up.

"Zoom in!" Oikawa burst out when Kuroo's phone left his ear. "Wait—rewind a bit."

Daishou leaned in, narrowing his eyes when he saw a slender woman about his mother's age bumping into Kuroo. Kuroo hardly looked at her before hurrying off. "Recognize her, Oikawa?"

"I can't see her face properly since it's at an angle. Do you think you could make this clearer?"

Sumire worked on it for a bit more, doing all sorts of things that Daishou and Oikawa couldn't comprehend. Perhaps later they would reflect on how outclassed they were by a high school girl of all people, never mind the fact that she possessed a great intellect. "There. Just wait for it to load for a bit. It should take fifteen minutes at most." She got up, checking her watch. "I have to go to my sister's to give her back a dress she lent me." She pointed at the duffel bag she had left on Daishou's couch. "Can I have your keys, Tooru-nii? In case she isn't home?"

"No need, I keep a spare set underneath the doormat." Oikawa waved her off.

"That's so obvious," Daishou said disparagingly, rolling his eyes. "Anyone could get in like that."

Oikawa paused, recalling the fight he had with Naoko earlier today. _I should sew it into the mat instead. Or keep it somewhere safer._ But that would come after. For now, he merely had to wait.

* * *

"Ugh." Sumire fiddled with the keys to her sister's apartment. "Come on... there!" The door clicked open, but there was no one inside. Naoko must have gone out. _I need a towel. Stat._ She removed her shoes at put on her sister's slippers, making for the bathroom.

She grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around her hair, changing her leggings and skirt for a pair of comfortable yoga pants. Naoko wouldn't mind. _Might as well get a fresh shirt while I'm at it._

Once she was fully changed, her wet clothes in a pile in Naoko's bathroom (she would pick them up later, after invading her sister's closet for snacks and bringing them back to Daishou's), she shuffled to the kitchen.

It was then she noticed something on the kitchen counter. A small note. Was it for her? Sumire picked it up, curious.

 _I'm sorry,_ the note read, _I can't do this anymore. Goodbye, Tooru, sis, and everyone._ She could feel the draft from the corridor outside—she had forgotten to close the door.

Sumire clapped her hand to her mouth, shaking. _A suicide note?!_ Frantic, she headed to the balcony, ignoring the rain that attacked her face. She peered downward, leaning dangerously over the railing, expecting the worst.

There was nothing there but pavement.

Before a sigh of relief could even escape her lips, there was a _force_ from her slippers—Naoko's slippers—pushing her upward and forward. She teetered for a split second before tumbling over the railing on the fifth floor, the slippers gone from her bare feet. The pavement was coming closer and closer—the towel unwrapped from her head and the wind blew it upward—her hair floated around her face and she was _weightless_ —there was a woman's face growing smaller in her vision; the rain blurred it but it was also clear as day—

A loud smack could be heard from the fifth floor balcony. Himura Rio, dainty white gloves on her hands, tucked the suicide note into the slippers.

* * *

"Hey, it's finally done!" Daishou called to Oikawa, who was currently raiding his kitchen for coffee powder. "Stop being a caffeine addict and get your ass over here, pretty boy."

Oikawa didn't even respond to the jibe, sitting down almost frantically in front of his laptop. What—no, _who_ —he saw made the very blood in his veins freeze.

 _Himura Rio._

Shaking, a different name dropped from his lips, causing Daishou to blink in confusion. _"Oh my god,_ Sumire _."_


	13. The Calico

Sometimes, Kenma wondered if he was doomed to live the life of a loser, constantly belittled by those around him. Today was no different, even if he had other things on his mind as well.

Kenma had never intended to become a public servant, but a chance meeting with a family friend had snagged him an internship with the Tokyo Police Department.

When he had heard Kuroo was dead, he had been sick with grief for days, and shut himself in his room for weeks. It had nearly cost him his internship, but he honestly couldn't have cared if he had lost it.

Now, Kenma stared at the scattered papers on the floor, his eyes dulled over.

"Oops," the other intern snickered as he walked past. " _Sorry_ about that. Better pick 'em up—aren't those supposed to go to the chief?"

As the intern sauntered off somewhere, Kenma continued to stare listlessly at the papers on the floor, feeling more defeated than he had ever felt. It wasn't merely the bleakness of what lay before him, but the gaping absence of the man who had pulled him up over and over again. Now, it felt like he was drowning, and it was easier to simply swim down and end it all.

But he didn't. Instead, he squatted, the last of his dignity ripped apart and blown away by the wind as he painstakingly recollected the fifteen papers and resorted them in order of importance, lest the chief get pissy at him.

Kenma's mind was a place of numbers, assumptions, and variables. It was a place he normally kept organized, but, lately, it felt like every meticulously organized drawer in his head and burst apart and all of his rationality and logic was scattered. Just yesterday, he had found himself on the edge of a skyscraper's roof, ignoring the worried calls that came from his former teammates and others who had known Kuroo. He had almost done it. Almost joined his best friend in an eternal abyss—but something had stopped him.

It was his certainty that Kuroo had been sabotaged. Murdered. And his killer still walked. He dared not share this with anyone. He did not need their concern and meddling. No, this was something that he had to do himself.

So Kenma walked into his boss's room, dumped the papers on his desk with the same passive-aggressive politeness as a rage chimera, and locked himself in his own personal room in the station.

On his desk, countless papers and other miscellaneous items lay strewn about. Kenma made himself comfortable, poring over evidence he had collected of Kuroo's last known whereabouts. Obviously, Oikawa and his girlfriend were prime suspects, having been the last who had interacted with Kuroo (they'd even fed him the beer that was the alleged catalyst to his death), but they'd already been interrogated before they could even fully comprehend Kuroo's death. He would likely get nothing from them that he didn't already have (he could be surprisingly sneaky; the higher-ups needed to work on their security), but he intended to pay them at least one visit in the next week or so.

He didn't know how long he was there for, but a colleague eventually knocked on his door. "Kozume-san?"

"Coming," Kenma said blandly, stuffing everything he intended to study tonight into his briefcase. It was a clunky, shabby thing which he could never get used to.

Outside the station, it was busy as usual. Kenma hung his head slightly, allowing his blond locks to fall around his face, limiting his field of vision to an acceptable level. But then he ceased, brushing his hair back and behind his ears. If there was a killer on the loose, Kenma reasoned, then it was best to be vigilant.

So, with uneasiness clinging to his skinny frame, Kenma returned home to his apartment, one that he had shared with Kuroo last year.

But Kuroo's scent had all but disappeared.


End file.
